The Fleeting Lives of Cherry Blossoms
by hakuzo-k
Summary: "Although life is incredibly beautiful, it is tragically short. Sometimes you don't even have time nor awareness to reflect on its meaning or the things you hold dear. Once you do, meaningful circumstances and people may be irretrievable." A collection of drabbles for MatoNatsu. Mainly fluff and domestic relationship. [Cover Image later]
1. Stories

Pre-note: I wanted to explore a bit more fluff and domesticity with Natsume and Matoba. I feel like they could be uncanny friends if their situations weren't as hostile, or if Matoba could learn from Natsume's gentleness.

* * *

"What have you been reading?"

" _Kokoro_."

Matoba hums and settles himself behind Natsume. His arms slip to the front of the blond's waist, kneading and readjusting the blanket in his lap. Often the exorcist doesn't bother him when he is focused (as enforced by Nanase), but something piqued his interest enough to disrupt the peaceful lull.

A digit rubs the corner of Natsume's jaw. The boy continues reading, too absorbed to notice Matoba's curious fingers. They drag up the jawline, eye peeking along the edge to inspect anything more ( _nothing_ ) before trailing back down.

The exorcist's deep voice, "You have a mark here," jolts the blond from his reading.

"What?" Natsume turns his head around, heart hammering from the sudden statement. Confused, he furrows his eyebrows.

"A beauty mark," the exorcist specifies, pressing once more to the dark spot and retreating before Natsume's hand reaches up to it.

Natsume presses his lips together, a little embarrassed that Matoba was inspecting him during his single-minded attention. "Can you not do that?"

"Sorry."

Turning back to the book, Natsume settles back to lean against Matoba (as an unspoken punishment they both know isn't quite one). Matoba looks over the younger's shoulder, reading along with him until the turn of a page, the flick of a scar on a wrist catches his eye. He studies the mark as Natsume obliviously reads on.

Matoba presses closer, resting his chin on the teen's shoulder so he could finger the raised scar on the side of Natsume's left wrist.

"Matoba…" Natsume sighs – half warning, half exasperated.

He stops the inspection per the aggravation in Natsume's voice, and instead gently holds his wrist. Not caring to argue much more, Natsume resumes. ' _But sometimes I would notice a shadow cross his face. True, like the shadow of a bird outside the window, it would quickly disappear._ ' About to turn the next page, Natsume looks to the hand holding his wrist and finds a scar running lengthwise on Matoba's index finger.

"You have one too," the teen comments almost absently (but he ponders about the scar, wondering if it was from childhood tumbles or wielding arrows) before his right hand turns the page.

"I do?" the black haired man questions, squinting his eyes to try to peer at the hand he laid upon Natsume's. "Where?"

Natsume sighs and keeps his eyes (and heated face) on the page when he wordlessly brushes digits over the finger.

"Oh."

Turning around, Natsume's cheek is tickled by the other's longer hair. He takes a moment to look at him and search his face for something that even he is unsure of. Maybe it is just to show his gratitude to Matoba. Marks and scars are often seen as tarnished and imperfect, whereas this person meets it with indifferent acknowledgement, and even appreciation. Natsume doesn't feel himself lean closer.

Matoba grins before saying, "You have one here, too," and presses his lips to the other's.

There's no mark or scar there.

"That's a lie," Natsume softly scolds afterward, breath a little shallow.

From that small mark he noticed earlier, Natsume can't subdue his curiosity. It swirls around in his head as he wants to know more about their origins, and ultimately the one bearing them. "Do you have any more?"

Matoba blinks at him in reply.

"Scars, or marks," Natsume murmurs slowly, head lowered as he places the book on the floor before twisting himself around. He's too embarrassed to ask about their causes; hopefully Matoba will offer explanations.

 _Kokoro_ is abandoned for the meantime.

* * *

Notes: Prompt is counting each other's freckles, beauty marks, etc. Theme incorporated is "wabi" - beauty in imperfection. _Kokoro_ line is credited to _Ibiblio_.


	2. Take a Deep Breath

Most afternoons between them were quiet and involved them working on their own material. Although their relationship was strained at first, overtime it was able to progress (albeit slowly due to reasonable suspicions).

Peeking up from his homework, Natsume regards the exorcist minding a few papers. His thumb brushes against the cover of a novel (is that _Kokoro_?) to his right, no doubt tempted to shirk for leisure. If Natsume wasn't here, he'd already be lost in fantastical words. Maybe that's why Nanase is always appreciative when Natsume brings his own work – it'll give Matoba a reason to not goof off.

His hair is a little messy, Natsume notes. Some of the strands are blocking his only vision. Without thinking, he reaches out and tucks a lock behind Matoba's ear in an attempt to expose his face.

The exorcist freezes at the contact, staring wide-eyed at Natsume. The fingers pull back, tickling the back of his ear. Now fully realizing what he had done, Natsume purses his lips and shouts, "S-sorry!" before bowing his reddened face away from Matoba.

Matoba didn't even notice the hand that swept his hair aside. Nanase would be impressed with his focus, but that comes at a cost of this sentimental and rare moment. Composing himself, Matoba wonders when Natsume last took a recess from his work.

Natsume hears a breathy chuckle from the other. He pointedly ignores, gathering his homework in his arms to distance himself from the man. There will no doubt be a repercussion.

"There's no need to apologize. That was quite observant of you." That was all Matoba needed as a justifiable distraction.

"You need to focus on your work," Natsume tries to bite out, but it doesn't come out as strong with his head bowed. He pretends to focus on math problems when trying to hide his red ears and face. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the familiar gray robes encroach closer. Natsume shifts around the low table to avoid the exorcist.

"Natsume." His voice comes out lively.

"No," is the teen's blunt reply. He keeps his eyes glued to the homework, but it becomes increasingly harder to focus with the man chasing him around the table.

"Natsume."

"Matoba, please do your work." Becoming more exasperated, Natsume considers gathering his things and retreating either to another room or taking his leave for the day.

Before he is able to grace that wonderful idea, his arm is snagged by Matoba and is dragged to the man. "Hey!" Natsume tries to struggle out of his captor's grasp, pulling on his arms to shoving him away. Matoba laughs all the while, excited at the break he was able to create by Natsume's unconscious endearment.

They don't wrestle for too long. Matoba eventually triumphs, gently pinning Natsume to the floor. They both catch their breaths for a moment. Matoba leans in, about to claim the blond's lips, until he is interrupted by a blunt reminder,

"You're going to get into trouble with Nanase."

Matoba pauses, opening his eye to take a look at the figure below him. Natsume keeps his gaze to the side, a slight frown and dusted pink cheeks. "Are you threatening me?"

"Yes." He makes sure his voice comes out bold and rough.

Unfortunately, it doesn't deter the other's intentions. He is too experienced to know what are empty threats. Matoba can't help but feel a little amused. Natsume doesn't succeed well with lying to him despite his years of doing so to others.

Natsume jolts and shuts his eyes when feeling a gentle hand lift his cheek. Warm lips are pressed to his. Quick and chaste and meaningful. By no means should his heart be racing this fast.

"I'm not going to play along," Natsume mumbles, eyes glancing to Matoba before settling elsewhere in the room. He twists his body and stretches out his arms along the floor in an attempt to crawl away.

"Mm-hm."

Threading his hand through blond strands, the exorcist places his lips above Natsume's ear. He hears a small, surprised inhale, but the head just so slightly presses back.

* * *

Notes: Prompt is tucking hair behind ear. Theme is "mono no aware" - simple, fleeting instances that sometimes go unappreciated.


	3. Every Part (Of You)

"What are you doing?"

He thought that there may be one moment Matoba doesn't exasperate him. Natsume sighs.

"Is it not apparent?"

"You're not a cat. Please stop." Natsume glances at the hands that were fiddling with his fingers. Matoba's fingers were strong and slender, persistent in exploring and detailing. After blinking away, the blond tries to distract himself with the book he was reading. But the pleasantness of the touch keeps pulling him back. He grimaces, conflicted from his self-consciousness and indulging in the attention.

"Isn't it embarrassing that I noticed?" Natsume pulls back a nervous smile when feeling fingers interlock his with a squeeze.

"Why should it be?"

Natsume then fully looks at Matoba and the hand detaches from the other's, resuming its gentle inspection. When Matoba lifts his head with a smile ( _an uncommon genuineness_ ), Natsume tilts his head to the garden in the backyard. He spots a few butterflies and watches them with half-interest. The body behind him presses into him, warm and comforting, but continuing to test his nerves.

"I appreciate you. Why wouldn't I show it in this way?"

A thumb presses down the palm beneath his thumb, dragging down. The blond huffs as a way to hide his embarrassment. "What's so special about my fingers?"

Fingers continue brushing down the palm and digits. Matoba doesn't respond in the quiet simplicity between and around them. The book lays open and momentarily forgotten in Natsume's lap. When Natsume's hand pinches and holds his fingers for a moment, Matoba's heart stutters in beat.

After the reciprocation, he slips his hand from the other's and moves his leg over the porch. "It's a part of you. They respond and conduct many things."

He has to tilt his head to see Natsume with his left eye, but the gesture goes unnoticed when he presumes the teen may have been mesmerized by the bountiful garden. Although, the hands are now recoiled upon his book, fingernails pinching at the skin of his index finger.

"Even simple things can hold beauty."

Natsume continues stroking his own fingers, shy of the feeling of another's hands on them.

"...Yeah."

* * *

Notes: Prompt is "playing with each other's fingers." Theme is _iki_ \- simple appreciation without being self-conscious or vain about it.


	4. Days So Warm

It has been a hot, muggy summer so far. There would be a brief crispness in the morning before the sun rises a bit past the horizon. Night dew on the grass and trees never lasted long when the haze would set in.

Natsume hates the heat.

Touko and Natsume's friends advise him to always have a hat with him in the summer. There have been too many instances he had fainted or became fatigued. On an outing to the beach with the Fujiwara not too long ago, he received a sunhat. The sun was beating down that day and Natsume had to mostly sit under the umbrella as Nyanko-sensei devoured most of the watermelon. Touko had given him a floppy straw hat, saying a nice man noticed Natsume's fatigue and purchased one for him.

Natsume hisses slightly from the burn of the bench sitting in the sunlight. All the others in the shade are occupied. He tilts his head forward for the hat to block the sun from his eyes. Once he is able to lick the soft ice cream and swallow, he feels a little better of the coolness sliding down his throat.

Matoba hates the humidity.

It is hard to cool off traditional homes in the summer. And when it comes to humidity, it's nearly impossible during the day. It's disgusting and uncomfortable when waking up damp, but the worst is having to maintain his hair frizz. It always causes him frustration. From wetting his hair during the day to hair conditioners, Matoba reluctantly accepts the fact that there won't be a cure to this.

Matoba sighs heavily, spreading out his legs when sitting on the bench, hoping for a breeze to break the stagnant air. He mouths the top of his dark chocolate and raspberry swirl, delighted by a cool twinge that tickles his face. The thought of humidity leaves his mind for the time being.

"You could have chosen a different day," Natsume suggests, side-eyeing the man besides him. The sunhat he wears (now too similar to be a coincidence) shadows his face when he leans in to eat more of the ice cream.

"Today was one of my free days," Matoba offers.

Natsume twists his lips and remarks, "Natori will be jealous," before sinking his lips into the top of the vanilla flavor.

"He's working," Matoba huffs. "He'd be a nuisance to take along." He swipes his tongue around the circumference of his treat.

They're both unsure if Natori's jealously is because of them sharing their company or such a friendly outing he missed out on.

The exorcist releases (another) heavy sigh, the mugginess creeping up his nerves. He hoped the ice cream would suffice and takes another lick. Eyeing Natsume, the teen minds his, eyes downcast to interchange from looking at his treat to the people walking by.

The man leans toward Natsume, startling him with an arm bumping his and tilting the ice cream onto the other's.

"Oops."

Natsume pulls away, not wanting to experience any more dizzying heat. "I know you did that on purpose." He fixes Matoba with a small glare and frown, but the man returns with a teasing smirk. Unimpressed with the prank, Natsume grabs Matoba's hand holding the ice cream and pulls it to his mouth, taking a mouthful of mixed vanilla and swirl.

Although shocked, Matoba doesn't pull back and instead watches until Natsume is finished, back to minding his own flavor again. (His cheeks are redder than before, but he knows how sensitive Natsume is to the heat.)

Self-conscious, Natsume looks forward. The bridge of the hat continues to shield his eyes and face from the sun. He's able to watch both weather-despairing people and youkai that happen by.

When the blond leans forward, Matoba studies the back of his neck and hair. There was a sunburn there some weeks ago, but thankfully it has toned down.

Buying that sunhat really proved to be beneficial.

* * *

 **...it almost makes you dizzy.**

* * *

Notes: Writing this piece was a lot of fun. It's nice to think of everyday scenarios between these two and them having a pleasant time just chatting (or being sneaky about getting matching gifts).

Prompt is eating ice cream.


	5. Garden of Freesia

Ah, it is a mess. He is a mess.

Natsume sits up, bends forward, resting his head on his knees. Breaths are hard to pull in. They are shallow and sharp and concerning. His heart pains from the acceleration and anxiety. (He doesn't need a panic. Not here.)

The Fujiwara are safe; there's no need to overthink this.

It is hard though. Maybe he would feel better if the anguish and horror from the nightmare is expelled from his body. It is a poison. Now fading, but painful in its wake.

He trembles, holds on, tightening the grip he has around his legs and in the comforter. Choke and suppress and gasp.

It is not long before Matoba stirs and wakes from the troubled gasping. He lies in the meantime, questioning if Natsume needs support. (He has tried before; it would have been better if he had not. They have not reached a point of unwary trust between them. Matoba with his manipulation; Natsume with his lying.)

Despite the earlier occurrence, Matoba rises. Natsume tucks his head away, effectively quieting his breaths this time. With the distance between them, the exorcist strains to reach but is able to place a hand on Natsume's lower back. A small comfort.

The touch is nice, yet repelling at the same time. It makes him feel sick, and happy.

What is this? What is the point if there is no trust? Is it fear of future threats that make him return? He wants to like him, to smile, to be friends. But he has always played games. And Matoba knows; he doesn't hide that he knows. He tries coating it with attempts of reassuring smiles or softer jests.

This may not work out between them.

When a hand gently pries his from the sheet to hold, Natsume slightly lifts his head. Matoba is looking at him, drowsy and quiet. His own face is a mess – tears and sweat and redness and an ugly frown. Fingernails dig into the palm and amber eyes fully peek out.

It hurts, but it is easy to dismiss. As a way to coax, a thumb swipes along the side of the hand.

Natsume purses his mouth, bites his bottom lip. A jump in his stomach and flutter in his chest.

Carefully, Natsume is led back to lie down. His eyes dart away when he finds red ones on him. He turns his back to the man, but doesn't release the secure hand.

Matoba watches. Sad, but hopeful.

It is not that they don't want to trust each other. It is just hard to. Their relationship is strange. It lacks definition and reassurance and feedback.

Fatigue brings Natsume to sleep, and he dreams of simple things and colors.

In the early morning, Natsume is roused by the sun's bleak light. Pale pink and cloudy and thick. His eyes hardly open. There is no need to. A hand is still in his. Turning his head, he finds Matoba's graceful sleeping face, and downward, the faintly gripping hand. There is a little smile, a dreamy reassurance. He turns his body around fully, inches a little closer.

"I had a dream that I was digging with my bare hands in a garden," Natsume whispers, then pauses – unsure about revealing the rest. He glances to the sleeping face, before nuzzling his head into the pillow, eyes drooping. "And I was surrounded by yellow, bell-shaped flowers." Shutting his eyes, the teen returns to sleep.

He has to put in an effort, too.

* * *

This is for Waffletime; thank you for the prompt!

Prompt: Natsume wakes up in the middle of the night from a nightmare.

Notes: The flower Natsume mentions is freesia – in flower language, it means trust and innocence.

Digging refers to searching as working in a garden refers to thinking what one needs in life. Digging with hands means that Natsume has the need to reveal what he feels and will do soon. (Ref. AuntyFlo)

I wanted to stray from angst for this collection, but it is hard when it concerns nightmares. At least it ends calmly. I didn't think I would be bringing up them working through their trust issues either. So, bonus content on that!


	6. Keep Practicing

_Natsume braids Matoba's hair as a prank. Matoba returns the favor._  
 _Prompt: Doing each other's hair._

* * *

"This is obnoxious," comes Natsume's light huff, running his fingers through tangled spots of long black hair.

Matoba dismisses the complaint abruptly, flipping a paper to read another beneath it. "It's helpful." Helpful because of it relating to ayakashi business, and Natsume doing something this nice for him. The pampered feeling is pleasing. He wouldn't want to return irritated snark caused by work, so he keeps quiet.

Natsume doesn't quite like the lack of response this time.

Anyone who knows Matoba would applaud the focus he is putting into his work. Yet selfishly, Natsume wouldn't have minded a little more words from the exorcist.

And so, he tugs on the black hair, detangles and smooths out, all without noise or acknowledgement from its owner. Pouting with a sigh, Natsume begins separating the strands of hair into three large pieces and begins to cross them. He makes sure to keep it loose to not tug on the roots harshly. Finishing with a white hair tie, the unskilled braid lies on Matoba's back.

The clan head still remains hunched over his work as Natsume silently crawls out of the room, leaving for the day.

* * *

Matoba is thankfully able to return the favor the following day.

The days have been nice lately because of the soft breezes. Many of the doors of the manor are left open, welcoming the delicate rings of chimes and mild chirps of birds. He finds Natsume napping on his side in an empty room, head resting on a seat cushion facing the open porch.

The braid Natsume gave him was amusingly amateur. He'll give the blond a proper one. The only problem is that Natsume's hair is too short. Matoba settles to make an unorganized mess of small braids throughout his hair. Halfway through the fingers gathering strands, petting and twisting them, the exorcist can't hold back his smile.

He hears a thump and a bell chime from the porch. Matoba freezes in place when recognizing the sounds.

"You better not be hurting him—" the tri-colored cat begins to growl, but Matoba puts a finger up to his lips as a gesture to hush. Nyanko-sensei scrunches his mouth and narrows his eyes. Upon looking closer, he could see the miniature version of what Natsume did to Matoba constructed all over his head. The cat huffs and smirks before approaching the teen's resting body, curling up to his chest.

Matoba ducks his face to hide a smile that hurts as he finishes what he could of the blond strands.

* * *

He doesn't expect to be woken up by the cat's snort.

"He couldn't finish the job. You wouldn't turn over."

"...What?" Natsume blinks open his eyes wearily. Noticing his scalp felt different, he reaches up to feel it, noticing the tightness of the roots and — ah, that must be it — tiny little braids sticking out on one side of his head.

Nyanko-sensei continues his chortling. "If you meant that braid to embarrass Matoba, it looks even worse on you."

Flustered, Natsume scolds the cat-youkai, but it's no use. For once _he_ didn't do something wrong. As for Matoba, this is now another tallied mark against him. Evermore embarrassed, Natsume rises from the floor to call for the one responsible, pulling out the dozens of tiny braids in the process.

Matoba is long gone by then. More so, at the opposite end of the manor.


	7. Do You Want To See It?

_"You know, you were very creepy when we met."_

 _Natsume is finally able to touch Matoba's cursed eye._

* * *

Matoba blinks over to Natsume. The blond averts his eyes, but he has already been caught staring. It's no use hiding his thoughts; Matoba would persist on why he was being observed.

"You know, you were very creepy when we met."

The exorcist laughs, not expecting this to be brought up. There is never going to be a time in which their first meeting would be forgotten. "There's no way I can take that back, Natsume."

Natsume furrows his brows. That isn't exactly what he meant to imply. He waits for the man to collect himself. "Not just the first time; I mean when you were persistent." Raising amber eyes, he lays them on one red and one bandaged. "... can I touch it?"

This is a strange day.

Matoba laughs once more before shifting closer. "You're not going to snatch it, are you?"

"That is a bad joke." Natsume scrunches his face and frowns at Matoba's distasteful joke.

It is easy to distinguish a missing eye, yet there has been times when the clan head had mistaken the figure. Sometimes he is a little too enthusiastic. (It has been a while since they have seen the other. He couldn't help but approach spiritedly.) Sometimes he is tired. (It's not uncommon that he appears in the back gardens. Matoba welcomed him with a lazy wave of a hand.) Sometimes the person's right eye is covered and it is hard to determine. (Purely an accident. He was helping with some chores.) He has to rely on aura rather than physical presence.

With an apologetic smile, Matoba shut his eyes and hums, lifting the eyepatch.

Hesitant from both the approval and the exorcist's calm demeanor, Natsume slowly raises his hand to the raised patch. The tips of his fingers first brush on the upper cheek before sliding further beneath. A shiver runs down his arm when feeling a few raised scars. (Circular from dug in claws, lines from swiping.) Further, around the outer corner, is a thicker bulge of skin. Natsume pulls in his bottom lip, daring to gently pass his digits over the eyelid. Thin skin, raised scars... but intact.

Pausing, drawing in soft breaths, he lets the marred skin sink into memory of his mind and touch. Carefully, a thumb brushes over the eyelid. Natsume's eyes flutter and look to Matoba's exposed eye. It's still closed.

It's too dangerous to expose the cursed eye. Especially since the youkai hasn't appeared yet.

The hand retreats from under the eyepatch before brushing and holding aside the long side fringe. Leaning closer, Natsume gently places his lips on the circle of the protection seal.

He hears an intake of breath and a small tug on his sleeve.

This is Matoba's vulnerability.


	8. Cold Days

Prompt: huddled for warmth

 _There's a rumor that Natsume is a 'human furnace'._

* * *

Natsume's presence is not just pleasant and calming, but _physically warm_. It's strange because the teen doesn't notice this himself. It's something that it noticed—by both human and youkai—and is mentioned.

Natsume rolls his eyes when Matoba asks if this 'human furnace' rumor is true. No, he scoffs, gently smacking the man's curious hand from reaching his wrist. It is definitely a clever way for the exorcist to proceed closer. When asking where he has heard such a thing, Matoba veers his eye over to the cat-youkai (also conveniently distracted by a bird). Pursing his lips, the teen tucks his hands into the heavy wool coat before walking ahead to the ice-sculpting event.

He falls asleep by accident. The days seem longer and colder, and the thinning Book of Friends is a constant energy-drainer. When Natsume wakes up, he finds two asleep figured cuddling into him (namely Nyanko-sensei and Matoba). No one has a blanket or pillow. Natsume sighs, a little guilty about moving. Instead, he listens to their soft breathing, the contact of fur and skin against his face and hands guiding him back to sleep

His nose is cold.


	9. Sweater Weather

_When things get too comfortable, Matoba always surprises Natsume. On rare occasions, they backfire._

* * *

"I have a thought," Matoba announces suddenly, placing a roasted sweet potato to his side. He looks to Natsume, donning an ivory, red-sleeved sweater.

Natsume blinks over to the black-haired man, curious but wary of the announcement. Swallowing, he lowers the sleeved sweet potato onto his lap. He hopes that this interruption will be quick. The sweet potatoes are pleasantly warm, but the weather is not. They may have to retreat inside from the porch if the colder temperature persists. Briefly Natsume considers Matoba's short-sleeved navy-blue pullover, wondering if his bare arms are prickled from the evening's breezes.

"What would that be?"

Matoba simply responds with a smile that narrows his eye. Knowing that mischievous look, Natsume jolts and nearly pulls away in time. (This man loves pranks and teasing; something that Natsume has been on the receiving end of far too many times.) Either Matoba is too quick or Natsume's agility has slowed due to the cooler weather, since the man easily grabs a hold of the other. Cold hands slip beneath the sweater to assault the clothed stomach with jabbing fingers. The motion morphs into sprawling and dancing fingers.

The sensation catches Natsume off-guard and he both freezes and frowns to disguise the laughter bubbling up inside of his stomach and chest. Facing Matoba, Natsume keeps the frown pronounced and stares, a silent plea to not continue. But since this was the reaction the man sought for, the fingers continue their motion and Natsume erupts with a 'Stop!' and a fit of giggles. Matoba laughs along, moving his hands along the waist and chest.

Having had enough, the blond pleads again. It doesn't cease. Annoyed and a little mad, Natsume lunges at Matoba, successfully tossing the sweet potato off his lap onto the ground and shoving his own shaky hands beneath the other's sweater.

When the fingers press into the stomach, Matoba's strength leaves him, becoming immobilized by the tickling. It's both a little painful and thrilling when he bends forward and laughs. The smaller fingers are not merciless.

Natsume feels a shaky smile pull on his lips, watches and feels Matoba shaking with laughter and tugging at his arms. A little swelled with triumph, a hand ventures further around the ribs. He blushes and ducks his head just slightly, embarrassed and amazed that he can do this.

It's fun, he thinks.

* * *

Prompt: tickling


	10. Summer Daze

_Aura is a more significant tool than physical presence to determine a being._

* * *

Summer mornings are often pleasant, a sweet nostalgia from fresh air from the prior night's fall. As such, mornings are often a slow-paced leisure of gradual waking and appreciating nature's beauty. There is a dying mist this morning, resting to about one's ankles. The sun has since drifted from the horizon, but remains gentle with its rays.

Matoba half-heartedly busies himself with reviewing last week's mission report. The handmade teacup sits beside him on the porch, steam and aroma inviting to taste and mind more than dry words. Dragging a thumb down its side, tracing over a cutely painted cat, it's then picked up in favor of the clipped papers now in his lap. A gentle blow across the top and a careful sip to not burn his tongue.

A few birds have chirped this morning, not so much as the other warmer days. Their voices become hushed when a pair of feet drag along a dirt path that leads to the back porch.

Also curious, the dark-robed exorcist looks to his left to see a familiar head of flaxen hair. A smile stretches onto his lips, and he tries very hard to keep it suppressed. He presses the corner of his lips to loosen the smile. (Who's he kidding, though? He's so excited that he's here.)

"Good morning, Natsume," Matoba greets softly. The teen continues to approach—no sway, nor words. The exorcist blinks before taking another sip of the tea before placing it down on a tray. Is it something serious? It is early morning; perhaps the teen is still groggy.

Slipping his feet into the geta on the rock below him, Matoba leaves the porch to meet Natsume. It's a little chilly, he notes to himself, folding his hands into his navy blue haori. Natsume's head falls forwards a little, fringe covering his eyes.

"Still not fully awake, Natsume?" Matoba teases, a hand reaching out to part the hair.

But the head lifts up, hair falling into its split part, and exposing his face. It is exactly Natsume's, besides a crucial missing aspect:

The right eye.

Matoba's heart stops, as does his feet. The adrenaline and dread spike through his body, coercing him to respond and defend and attack the being that now lunges at him.

Although these sort of mornings are pleasant and easygoing, as an exorcist, there are instances of ambushes and chaos. Reaching into the kimono sleeve beneath the haori, Matoba procures a talisman just as the creature's hand grips his shoulder in an attempt to shove him down. With a few quick words, and a toss of the enchanted paper to the creature, a blast of light repels its attack. Now in its dark amorphous body, it retreats with a shriek into the forest nearby, no doubt enduring the penalties and traps around the perimeter.

Both shocked and worn-out, Matoba collapses onto the ground. His breath wavers from the rush, but he keeps himself vigilant in case of a second ambush. But he had been so careless lately. He had forgotten of the last time this eye-snatching youkai attacked. He had forgotten that this youkai can impersonate those close to him in order to obtain its overdue promise.

He had created a new bond with someone. And of course that weakness would be exploited.

* * *

Summer nights are often a cool lull. A faint chirping of insects and calm in contrast of the day's sun and heat. Like this, Matoba can then unwind, breathe in the surrounding nature and prepare for the following day.

"Matoba?"

The black-haired man's ears perked to the voice. Sitting at a low table, he leans back to peek through the open doors to the outside.

Blond hair.

His lips quirk up. Matoba isn't a stranger to surprises, more so unfavorable than pleasant, but Natsume visiting him at night is always special. The teen looks hesitant to approach, so the exorcist walks to the door to invite him.

"Come now. Did you get involved in an ayakashi's troubles again?" Matoba chuckles, a little tired sounding from the day's earlier work.

The teen purses his lips in embarrassment and nods. "Maybe." He fidgets, but doesn't approach.

Shy? Matoba thinks, before his body continues forward, bare feet meeting the cold wooden boards. "Did you need to talk?" It's colder, Matoba notes, passing a look to Natsume. "It's warmer inside," he suggests.

"It's fine," Natsume responds, looking to his right. The voice comes out warped, strange.

The exorcist dismisses the observation (the bit of apprehension). Perhaps it's the nightfall and his fatigue casting tricks. So, he takes another step—a floorboard creaks, Natsume angles his face to Matoba, expression determined—and offers, "Come here, then, and sit. The cold isn't treating me as kindly." Matoba sits on the night-chilled porch and pats to his left side.

Natsume watches the hand on the porch and Matoba's inviting gaze before deciding with a tiny grin, "All right." He settles himself where the exorcist designated, experimentally pressing his arm to meet the other's. "Is this better?" Natsume inquires, gazing up to Matoba.

It is, and isn't. Matoba slightly frowns. There is closeness, a stuttered beat in his heart, but it is still _cold_. "A little." Matoba tries a smile at Natsume, the boy himself looking intently at him—

He hasn't seen that look before. Hunger want anger disbelief relief success.

Kindness and attachment make you into a fool.

Clinging to what he can of his waking mind and descending dread, Matoba fists his hands. Though, since it has made it this far, he playfully inquires, "May I see your eyes?" one hand swipes the blond fringe and the other readies to physically fight back. His tools were inside. It is almost time for him to rest, after all.

The blond flinches away from the touch, just quick enough that Matoba couldn't see what didn't settle beneath the hair. "Please don't." Natsume instead holds the hand that swept the hair, and peeks up to the exorcist. "I have an unsavory wound."

Matoba cannot contain his amused grin. Really. Somewhat convincing. "Do you?" the exorcist tests, "Inflicted by an ayakashi, right?" and leans closer, pressing himself into Natsume, yet the younger doesn't pull back from shyness. He, too, closes in, nearly crawling into the exorcist's lap, a quick lick to his own lips.

"Yes," he breathes, exposed eye dark and determined. _Hungry_. His hands drop Matoba's, instead reaching to cup the man's jaw, pet down his hair, his eye seal—

Matoba closes his eyes and shivers. Ah, if only this was real. He really shouldn't play for too long. His heart twinges and stomach drops when he feels the clawed attempt at the bandaged eye. But they are on the threshold of the Matoba manor. It is simple to enact the proper barriers and reinforcements with several spoken words.

Wounded by a spell, Natsume hastily retreats, but not without his own injury to the exorcist. Its skin is ripped and torn, exposing the murky black beneath. It gives a harsh look to Matoba, a harder resolution than he has seen before. With attendants enclosing, it dashes off, still in its splintering skin.

Matoba stares vacantly ahead, hand pressed into a fresh cut on his left arm above a scar left by that someone familiar.

* * *

Summer days aren't often the same. There are days of gentle breezes, dry heat, humidity, and downpours.

The end of the month is near. There has not been sight of the eye-snatching youkai.

Until it confidently presents itself in daylight. It's more like Natsume than ever. Matoba squints his eyes, forehead perspiring from the sun's heat and anticipation. His heart beats harder than usual, expecting the creature to morph and attack at any moment.

"Why are you standing so far away? Do you mind helping me?" It furrows its brows, frowning, 'concerned'. "Matoba?"

It sounds like him. His fingers twitch for defense, for a weapon. He remains on the porch, reinforcing in his mind to stay there and not approach nor beckon.

It has gotten more clever. It holds a stack of scrolls and books to block the right side of the face. There is no way to determine the validity.

So it must be the youkai.

During the day, Matoba is more than prepared with tools and rested mind to gauge the threats. A hand slips into a sleeve, the talismans already prepared.

The youkai continues to approach, despite no invitation or request, wearing a confused face. The exorcist's heart rate increases, perspiring more (admittedly a little panicked). It's so bold. How dare such a creature trespass and take such a friendly form.

"Do not come further," his voice utters, attempting strength, the talismans pulled out between his fingers.

The creature stops, face shocked and frightened. "What are you—"

"Back," Matoba tries again, deep and hoarse, and straightens. "You will not deceive me again."

"Matoba—" the youkai steps forward, looking scared and upset.

Enough trickery. The exorcist grits his teeth behind his lips before tossing the talismans at the creature. They land successfully on its target. The creature shrieks, dropping the materials in its arms and collapsing onto the ground. The paper stretches into binding, winding around the body's wrists and legs. It struggles and grunts (different from the gargled shrieks it gave before), attempting to break from the bonds.

With the youkai safely restrained, Matoba steps from the porch and approaches. It still has not morphed back into its dark formless body; the right side of the face rests on the ground. Distasteful—continuing to impersonate Natsume's name and body for violence and revenge. Raising a hand vertical to his mouth, preparing to mutter a verse, he urges again, "Return to your original form before I cast you aside for another month. I cannot inflict harm upon this person."

"What do you mean? Matoba, this is my 'original form.'" The creature looks up at the exorcist, visibly trembling—blond hair highlighted by the sun's light, eyes moist and brightened gold—

Two golden-brown eyes.

The bindings are released with a simple word. Matoba quickly withdraws, steps back. When feeling a heavier heat and perspiration take his body, he reasons it must be the sun beating down harder. Exhaling leaves him breathless. Oh, it's harder to breathe—like the air is thinning out.

The youkai below him—no, _Natsume_ —wears a concerned look. It looks like he is wavering.

"Matoba, you should sit down," comes the softer voice, concerned, still a little shaky. He shakes off the exhausted restraints, approaching the exorcist to assist. Hands reach for the man's waist and arm in an attempt to keep him upright. "We'll move over to the porch. Then I will look for Nanase."

Blinking, sweat rolls off his forehead. Is he overheating? Blinking again, vision still wavering, Matoba nods carefully, letting the younger guide him to the porch. After what just happened, it's unbelievable how kind this person can be, Matoba wonders. Natsume ducks his head, cheeks a little pink.

When seated, he realizes he's been so tired. The eye-snatching youkai has been using this form for so long. His mind has been occupied by when it would appear next. It was consuming. The last encounter was so intimate, so dangerous. As an exorcist, he knew he should have been relying on aura, not physical presence. Even if Natsume's aura is nearly a youkai's, he needs to be more careful.

Seated with his legs over the porch, body hunched from the panic and heat, Matoba huffs through his shortened breathing, "I attacked you. … I'm _sorry_ ,"

This person is _special_.

* * *

Prompt: Two times Matoba has mistaken the youkai after his eye for Natsume, and one that he mistakes Natsume for the youkai.


	11. July

_Natsume's birthday wish comes true (and he might regret it)._

* * *

As surprising as it is to see Matoba about in casual clothing of a button-down and slacks, handling a bouquet of flowers is much stranger. They're presented to Natsume, an obvious gesture for him to take.

"Happy birthday, Natsume."

Natsume receives the bouquet of bright yellow flowers into his arms. "... Sunflowers?" A fresh field scent, still a little cool. It is nice to feel that on such a hot, humid day. The plastic wrap crinkles when it's turned.

"So? What is your birthday wish?"

The question drags the teen out of the stupor of appreciating the yellow flowers. Natsume licks his lips before biting the bottom. Golden-brown eyes assess the exorcist cautiously. It could be a trick, or a game. This man is partial to those.

"... It won't happen if I tell you."

A bit more biting than meaning to, but the suspecting laugh eases the worry. Thankfully, he's not easily hurt with words. "What if I had the power to make the wish come true?"

Natsume flushes, brows furrowed. That is impossible. As impressive as Matoba is in his skills with youkai, he is not a magical being. Wishes are just that. If you want them to become real, you have to work towards it or something similar, or be incredibly lucky. Luck is not something that graces him nor people like him.

After nibbling his lip for a moment, the blond teen stutters out, "F-Fine. My wish is for you to leave." Because he surely wouldn't.

"All right, then." And the black-haired exorcist turns around.

 _He's actually going?_ Natsume panics for a moment, not expecting this man to leave so quickly without as much as a comment on his well-being or teasing of some minuscule observation.

"W-Wait!"

Matoba looks at him, a little confused, but welcoming to Natsume's hesitance. There is that small grin.

He is _not_ going to say otherwise, now. Instead, Natsume purses his lips, knowing he needs to at least thank the man for the gift. "... Thank you…"

"You are welcome." Matoba's smile is pleasant and unimposing, softer than their encounters when youkai are involved. His face, too, is more relaxed, relieved. "Have a good day, Natsume." With a small bow of his head, the exorcist departs.

Natsume's heart is hammering. From simply nerves or coupled with the heat and humidity, the perspiration on his forehead and skin builds. The weather is not helpful and forgiving; at least he is near home. Adjusting the bouquet in his arms, a glimpse of periwinkle catches his eye.

… _Oh_. Is that a letter?

Plucking the envelope from the middle of the assortment, Natsume slips out the placard inside.

 _Respect. Adoration. Radiance._

 _Happy 18th Birthday_

A restrained smile breaks through Natsume's flushed face. He tries to subdue it with a bite to his lip. It's stupid that he _feels_ stupid for smiling from this. But… it makes him so, _so_ happy.

* * *

Prompt: happy birthday, sunflowers, happiness

Happy birthday Natsume Takashi! We love you very much!


	12. Preparedness

_Umbrellas aren't just for rain._

* * *

The summer's rain hasn't been bad this year. Before the fall approaches, there needs to be one, right? For all the times Natsume has been unprepared or surprised, he at least listens to Touko's wise words of 'Bring an umbrella today!'

There is only so much Natsume can account for, though.

"Natsume?"

The blond furrows his brows and turns to the calling voice through the pour of rain. Trailing not too far behind is a heavily soaked man, clad in a black suit, sloppily done tie, and white shirt. The fabric sticks to body, hair curling and framing his face in a natural, ungroomed way. The body language slumps in on itself, visibly worn and upset from the rain.

As this is both irritating and endearing, Natsume cannot help the exasperated sigh that leaves his chest. "Matoba, where is your umbrella? Don't you always have one?" The iconic umbrella, painted with one large ring and a smaller inside of it, is missing from the other's possession. With the obvious presence of the eye seal still in place, there is no need to question if it remains in use.

"Yes, but…" The man trails off and looks to the side, guilty. Natsume is undoubtedly upset about this, isn't he? The reason is embarrassing, yet there's no need to lie about it. "Just yesterday that youkai attacked, so I thought I wouldn't need it." He is not one to carry unnecessary things.

Natsume furrows his brows. Does he not pay attention to the weather? Wouldn't his secretary say something? Although, to be fair, sometimes she wouldn't. Nanase is fickle, especially if Matoba is being a brat. Natsume has seen his share of the shirking clan head. Often times he has been the target of those escapades.

Despite that, this shouldn't be too much trouble. With a huff, and cheeks painted pink, Natsume holds out the umbrella as an offer to shield the other from the rain. His golden gaze and words are stern. "Umbrellas aren't just for youkai, you know."

Matoba blinks widely, dew dripping from his lashes. There has not been a hint or try of him to be shielded, yet here is selfless Natsume, offering the simple but kind gesture of keeping dry. It's not long before a smile eases onto his face. This is an honest proposal. Natsume is too kind.

"Ah, yes, sometimes I forget about that. My thoughts are often preoccupied about youkai. I assume you are heading to the station as well?" Eagerly (to both escape the rain and join the other by request), Matoba ducks beneath the umbrella. Thankfully it is large enough to fit them both. To accommodate their heights, Matoba notices Natsume has to strain and extend the handle up higher than usual. Not thinking about his actions, Matoba reflexively reaches to the hand holding the item. "Would you like me to hold the umbrella?"

Natsume jolts at the voice and touch, clenching the handle much tighter and more rigid. "Th-that is not necessary." There is a chuckle aimed at his reaction and he blushes. "I'm only sharing this umbrella with you because you look pathetic wearing a suit completely soaked."

Matoba laughs heartily. He makes sure he isn't too close, having his shoulder peek out from the umbrella's protection. "I do, I do. You're right. I am very grateful, Natsume."

He isn't sure if he should be suspicious at the accommodating tone. If Matoba gets too fresh, he can always take the umbrella for himself.

"If you think umbrellas are only for that eye-snatching youkai, maybe you should have two different umbrellas."

Raising his brows, Matoba inquires, "Oya? How would that help?"

Natsume pushes out his lips. That's right. How would carrying two umbrellas or remembering at least the non-blessed one be helpful?

"Ah—" Coming to a halt without warning, Natsume then remembers. It is a way Matoba will indefinitely use an umbrella for rainy weather.

The exorcist quirks his head down to the blond when noticing that he is digging through the contents of his bag. A small item is pulled out, hastily clenched in his palm so that Matoba could not assess it in time. How smart of him.

"Well? I am sure you have thought of something," Matoba prods.

"...I have."

Natsume looks to Matoba for a moment, expression practiced difficult to read. Then a hand is thrust out to reveal the item: a wood-cut cherry blossom charm. Matoba blinks, looking from the charm to Natsume's gradually reddening face. Ah, he shouldn't tease him for this (just now). Fingers delicately take the gift from the palm, passing digits over the texture.

"It's unfortunate there is only one. It would be nice to match."

Natsume nods, clenching the umbrella handle tighter, ensuring the charm looped there hasn't shifted from its spot in his palm.

* * *

Prompt: rain and umbrella

Notes: This was a (late) MatoNatsu day fic as well.


	13. Comfort Over Fashion

_The mystery of the blue socks are revealed._

* * *

Natsume wears blue socks. A lot. Does he not have any other colored pairs? Only one pair? A favorite color? Maybe it is more than that. This mystery has been going on long enough. How could he not have figured this out all this time?

Matoba glances over from his work on the chabudai to Natsume leaning against the wall, mind focused on a book held on his chest. His knee sways back and forth, socked feet planted on the floor. The pant cuffs are pulled up, displaying the familiar blue cotton. Typically, these garments end at his ankle, but curiously, this one extends more than past that. Matoba squints his eyes, making sure he isn't being deceived. The swaying of the knee is too distracting.

Without warning, the exorcist reaches out and grabs a hold of the knee to stop its movement. Natsume immediately reacts with a shriek, surprised by the sudden touch and pulls his book back to peer over. "Matoba!"

A hand pulls a pant leg up. To Matoba's suspicion, the sock does extend past the ankle. His brows furrow tighter, more determined to expose this curious case. Drawing the pant leg further now shows the calf in full, but the tightness of the fabric stops at the knee.

 _And it goes further_.

Now with the mystery nearly unfolded, Matoba furiously digs his fingers into the blue cotton, pulling it down from its situation.

The searching fingers both tickle and unsettle Natsume. "St-stop that! Hey!" The blond has since dropped the book, swatting and desperately tugging at the hands. To think he could have a decent afternoon without worrying about something like this.

But then the sock is fully pulled down, pooled around Natsume's ankle. Both Matoba and Natsume stare blankly at the meaning of this, each for a different reason.

"Natsume…" the exorcist begins, head never pulling up. It's long. It must extend to above the knee, perhaps midway of the thigh and he— Matoba loses his train of thought.

Natsume swallows and licks his lips, cautiously aware of the exorcist's deduction. "It's… I like how they feel."

… They really are thigh high socks.

* * *

Prompt: the infamous blue socks Natsume wears in official art


End file.
